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inflated prices to other rich housewives
who were as bored as they were.
The proprietress of the Sanzelize (its
name a transliteration of the legendary
Parisian avenue), Senay Hanim, was a
very distant relation on my mother's
side, but she wasn't there when I walked
into the boutique at around twelve and
::õ the small bronze double-knobbed camel
0-
bell jingled two notes that can still make
my heart pound. It was a warm day, but
L.U
inside the shop it was cool and dark. At
I-
first I thought that there was no one
,there, my eyes still adjusting to the
0<::
go, gloom after the noonday sunlight. Then
I felt my heart rise into my throat, with
the force of an immense wave about to
crash against the shore.
, "I'd like to buy the handbag on the
mannequin in the window," I managed
to say, staggered by the sight of her.
2 "Do you mean the cream-colored
<?, Jenny Colon?"
>-
When we came eye to eye, I imme-
diately remembered her.
"The handbag on the mannequin in
the window," I repeated dreamily.
"Oh, right," she said and walked over
to the window. In a flash she had slipped
k
}J I
.;, ..
. I
off one of her high-heeled yellow
pumps, extending her bare foot, whose
nails she'd carefully painted red, onto
the floor of the display area, and stretch-
ing her arm toward the mannequin. My
eyes travelled from her empty shoe over
her long bare legs. It wasn't even May
yet, and they were already tanned.
Their length made her lacy yellow
skirt seem even shorter. Hooking the
bag, she returned to the counter and,
with slender, dexterous fingers, removed
the balls of crumpled tissue paper, show-
ing me the inside of the zippered pocket,
the two smaller pockets (both empty),
and also a secret compartment, from
which she produced a card inscribed
"Jenny Colon," her whole demeanor
suggesting mystery and seriousness, as if
she were showing me something very
personal.
" H 11 F .. " I . d " Y ' 11
e 0, usun, sal. ou re a
grown up! Perhaps you don't recog-
. "
nlze me.
"Of course, Kemal, sir, I recognized
you right away, but when I saw that you
did not recognize me I thought it would
be better not to disturb you."
There was a silence. I looked again at
...
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one of the pockets she had pointed to
inside the bag. Her beauty, or her skirt,
which was in fact too short, or some-
thing else altogether, had unsettled me,
and I couldn't act naturally.
"Well. . . what are you up to these
days?"
"I'm studying for my university en-
trance exams. And I come here every
day, too. Here in the shop, I'm meeting
lots of new people."
"That's wonderful. So, tell me, how
much is this handbag?"
Furrowing her brow, she peered at
the handwritten price tag on the bot-
tom: "One thousand five hundred liras."
(At the time, this would have been six
months' pay for a junior civil servant.)
"But I am sure Senay Hanim would
want to offer you a special price. She's
gone home for lunch and must be nap-
ping now, so I can't phone her. But if
you could come by this evening. . ."
"It's not important," I said, and, tak-
ing out my wallet-a clumsy gesture
that, later, Füsun often mimicked-I
counted out the damp bills. Füsun
wrapped the purse in paper, carefully
but with evident inexperience, and then
THE NEW YORKER, SEPTEMBER 7,2009 65